


Mother's Milk

by babybrotherdean



Series: 365 Challenge: 2016 [9]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Lactation, Lactation Kink, M/M, Mother-Son Relationship, Multi, Non-Sexual Age Play, Non-Sexual Kink, Season/Series 11 Spoilers, Season/Series 12 Speculation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-06
Updated: 2016-06-06
Packaged: 2018-07-12 17:55:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7116616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/babybrotherdean/pseuds/babybrotherdean
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nothing like mother’s milk to calm an upset child.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mother's Milk

**Author's Note:**

> If Mary comes back at the start of season 12 having been pulled right from the night she died...
> 
> Well, she was probably still fully nursing Sam at 6 months old. I'm not saying that she's 100% still lactating in the future, but also it's exactly what I'm saying.
> 
> Also, as far as spoilers: s11 finale spoilers, though I've edited Toni out because fuck that noise.

It doesn’t occur to Mary to worry about her milk until several hours after she’s been brought back into the world. It’s still hard to believe- impossible- that the grown man who’s taken her home, spoken to her in a soft voice fit for a lover, who’s been nothing but kind to her as he watches her with childlike adoration in his eyes, is her son. Her Dean; her perfect little baby boy who’s grown up in the immeasurable span of time between her death and apparent revival. She can’t take her eyes off of him anymore than he can her, and it only gets worse when they make it to the safehouse he’d described on their way there.

Distantly, she remembers whispers about the Men of Letters. Her parents had never told her much about them, besides that they existed in the first place, but it seems that her questions might finally be answered as Dean leads her inside. Logically, she should be expecting what comes next, but it’s hard to be prepared for much of anything when you’ve been dead for more than thirty years and you’re shivering in a nightgown and oversized jacket that your son had offered you.

“Dean!” Mary almost misses the movement entirely but Dean’s hand slips from her back and then he’s being enveloped in the embrace of another man, one who’s somehow even bigger than him, chestnut hair curling around his ears. She’s lost for a moment, grapples for the bits and pieces of recognition that linger at the edges of her consciousness while the two of them are reaquainted. “Jesus, I thought- you’re not dead, didn’t you-?”

“They fixed it,” Dean breathes out, and it occurs to Mary that she’s missed quite a bit. “They just- they made up. Fixed it all together, and now we’re… we’re here.” He pauses, then, pulls back a little bit. Mary watches him warily as the other man becomes aware of her presence, goes stiff. “Sammy… I, uh. There’s someone you gotta meet.”

_Sammy._

An infant in her memory, but he’s nothing but man standing in front of her, looking just as shocked as she is. There are a few moments of stunned silence between all of them before Sam breaks it, barely a whisper, and she can’t help but be reminded of his brother’s reaction, only an hour or two earlier.

“Mom?”

Some rushed explanations and misty eyes land them in a bed together, curled up close because Dean mumbles something about “catching up” and neither her nor Sam bother to protest. Mary’s sure it must be a matter of comfort; curled between her boys-turned-men, she can see the way that Dean’s gone soft at the edges- the way he clings to her, pushes his face into her neck like he’s finally found something after a lifetime spent searching. Sam’s a little different; no less awed, but he can’t stop staring at her. Dean seeks affection and Sam seeks reassurance, and it’s all Mary can do to provide for them both.

Apparently, her body is on board with that particular plan in a way she hadn’t anticipated.

“Mom?” Sam’s the one who speaks up, just quiet at her side. “You- you’re leaking.”

She still hasn’t changed out of the damn nightgown, and when she opens her eyes from where she’s been drifting off stroking Dean’s hair, it’s obvious what her youngest is referring to. The heavy, swollen feeling is obvious now that she’s paying attention, and the growing wet spots on the front of the nightgown are unmistakable. Of course; Sammy had just been an infant when she was last around; her body still thinks her baby needs her to feed him.

But then- well.

“I’m sorry,” she murmurs, bringing one hand up off of Dean to rub gently at the swell of one breast. Dean makes a soft sound of discontent and presses closer, and whether he’s dozing or simply regressing to more closely resemble the four-year-old she remembers, she can’t be sure. “It should taper off soon enough. The supply usually meets the demand.”

For now, though, it’s no less uncomfortable, and she winces slightly with the pressure in her overfilled breasts. She’d nursed Dean until he was almost two years old before weaning him off, and her body probably isn’t prepared for Sam’s nursing to end so abruptly. She’s dealt with worse, though, and it’s but a minor inconvenience in the face of everything else going on.

Of course, what she doesn’t anticipate is the feeling of Dean nosing against her skin, lips brushing the place where it disappears under the nightgown, just under her collarbone. The scratch of stubble reminds her of John, but there’s something irrefutably child-like about the way he’s moving, and-

“Dean,” she says gently, bringing her hand back up to brush through his hair, and she’s taking a risk here, treading upon this delicate thing that exists among them, but she can’t help herself, “do you want to make Mommy feel better, angel?”

He snuffles against her skin and presses a little closer and- and he isn’t saying no, and Sam’s staying quiet at her side, so she breathes out slowly and reaches for the buttons that go down the front. 

The top of the nightgown parts easily, a maternity piece that had always seemed silly before now. Mary exposes her breasts slowly, shivers a little as the nipples harden in the open air; the milk is already visible, beading at the tips, and her eyes go to the top of Dean’s head as his lips ghost down her skin. There’s something terribly innocent about the way he moves, the gentle sigh that raises goosebumps on her chest before his lips seal around one nipple, latching on and starting to suckle as if he’d never stopped.

The feeling is incredible, different than before- different for reasons she’s got no desire to explore at this moment- and it’s almost too easy to relax as the pressure is relieved, to pet Dean’s head tenderly and encourage him to continue, to take everything he needs because “Mommy’s here, baby, Mommy’s gonna take good care of you.” Far too old to be nursing, surely, but still hers, to love and care for and cherish, and it just so happens that this is the way it needs to be expressed.

There’s a tentative movement at her other side, and Mary turns her eyes to Sam, watches with a wave of affection as he slants his eyes up towards her, all kicked-puppy. Speaks softly, but speaks all the same, and she figures he’s in a different place than his brother, but equally as needy for her attention at the moment. “Can I?”

She answers by carding her fingers through her hair, long and thick and soft, and guiding him towards her other breast. He closes his eyes as he settles in place, and there’s a faint graze of teeth against her nipple, sending a shiver down her spine and something warm to the base of her stomach. Not unfamiliar, but for the moment, unimportant while she focuses on caring for her babies.

Mary might not understand everything happening around her, and she may be younger than her two sons, now. She may have been thrown into an unfamiliar time and place, may have missed everything in Sam and Dean’s lives over the past few decades, and may need a lot of help before she’ll be any good to anyone.

But this- this, she can do. She can curl up with her boys and keep them warm and fed, give them the affection and comfort they need, maybe now more than ever. This much- letting them suckle from her like the infants she remembers them as- is easy.

Nothing like mother’s milk to calm an upset child.

**Author's Note:**

> :D


End file.
